


magnum opus.

by sweetaeste



Series: haikyuu oneshots. [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Delusions, Depressed Oikawa Tooru, How Do I Tag, I Tried, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insanity, M/M, Painting, Psychological Horror, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetaeste/pseuds/sweetaeste
Summary: Oikawa Tooru, a renowned paintor, now struggling. Its been months since he'd been out of his rundown house, he needed to get back on track so he decided to create the masterpiece that he'll get his name back on the limelight.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: haikyuu oneshots. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088408
Kudos: 10





	magnum opus.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea had been stuck in my mind for months and took me a lot of courage and inspiration to write. I hope you guys like it! 
> 
> Beware of typographical and grammar errors, this isn't edited.

𝘋𝘳𝘪𝘱

𝘚𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘩

𝘚𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦

𝘜𝘨𝘭𝘺

There was paint and dust everywhere, a metallic smell circulating around the room doesn't bother Oikawa, he didn't know where it came from but he focuses on his work, a brush on his hand, there were countless of broken and messy canvases scattered on the floor. His usual clean face and hair are now dishiveled, bags were resting on his face as the result of many sleepless nights.

He grunts at the painted canvas infront of him, it was so fucking ugly, imperfect. He screamed and throws the canvas along with the used ones, he had been trying hundreds of times already but he can't seem to get the outcomes he likes. The brunette knows his money is starting to run out, all wasted on imperfect canvases and paint he had used.

Something just doesn't feel right, he was lacking 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜, something important that he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was driving him to the brink of insanity, his gut just tells him he needs to do this masterpiece and he could sell it off for money or regain his status as a i̶n̶s̶a̶n̶e̶ renowned paintor. Oikawa sighs, places the palette and brush at the easel's base.

The house was empty, uncleaned, there were cobwebs and dust all over the place. He shrugs and made his way down the stairs, walking towards his kitchen, passing worn out potraits, creaky floorboards, stained carpet and moldy smell.

"O҉i҉k҉a҉w҉a҉."

He turned around hastily, facing the hanged portraits, he swears he heard someone called his name and it was the paintings. The painting's faces then started to swirl into something terrifying, their figures being rearranged in something out of a nightmare. Oikawa panics, blinking quickly, trying to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, after a few blinks, he realized there was nothing. Everything was normal and silent, he then around and continued making his way towards his kitchen.

"𝑰 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒏𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑰𝒘𝒂-𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈..." he was about to look and find his phone but realized something. Hajime hasn't come home yet, he remembered that he was out on a trip, how could he forget?

His husband had been away from their home a couple of months already, giving out Oikawa excuses that keeps extending his stay oversees. Despite missing his husband, he let him did what he wanted, staring at his figure when he left him, a big luggage on his hand and a tired look on his face. Oikawa didn't ponder on the thought anymore that he'll be alone for a couple of months, he must focus on his work, being alone and at peace will result to him developing countless ideas and imagery for his work.

He went to the marbled counter, the disgusting smell of the dishes where irritating his nose, the brunette disregards the sink, reached for a clean mug on the wooden cupboards, washed it briefly and placed it on the coffee machine. He had been living off coffee for the past few days, was it days or weeks? Oikawa himself didn't know, he doesn't care, his mind is way too focused on making his masterpiece.

The familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee enters his nostrils, he sighs again, grabs the mug and walked back towards his art room. Oikawa ignores the mould and peeling wallpaper on his way, he doesn't have time for those things. He'll just call a maid or something after he finishes or once Hajime comes back.

He sat back down on the stool infront of the new canvas, his coffee placed on the floor, his messy hands reached for the palette and paintbrushes. Another sigh came out of his lips, he's tired amd restless but he cannot afford to let another day pass without creating his masterpiece. Oikawa then grabbed a tube, squeezed the contents on the wooden palette and dabbed his brush on it. 

A sudden realization enters his mind, he hastily looks at the tall cabinet on his left, there were locks in them, he immediately grabs the set of keys on the floor and opened up the cabinet. A red paint could be found on the cabinet, he smiles at the small vial, he had been keeping this for the longest of time. 𝑊ℎ𝑦 𝑑𝑖𝑑𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑟? This took him so long to get, he spent hours on collecting the pigment, he couldn't believe himself that he left it sitting in the dusty cupboard.

Glee started to fill his body, he's so excited to use the paint for his masterpiece, Oikawa is sure that this would be the final attempt he would do. He stared at the canvas in front of him, it was empty but not for long, he grabbed the brush, dipped the bristles on the substances and drew lines with it. Inspiration flooded his mind, he etched red lines onto the canvas, it was a portrait, Hajime's portrait.

Backing away to admire the progress on his painting, he smiled, an iron smell lingers in the atmosphere but he ignores it and continued to open up the next cabinet. It was a shattered bone, completely clean as if it was perfectly picked off excess skin or flesh. Brown orbs started to wonder around the room, looking for the mortar he had used countless of times to make his powder pigments into fluid ones. Upon spotting it, Oikawa immediately went over to it, placing the bone and using the pestle.

At this point, more excitement runs through his veins as his shaky hands grinds the bone into dust, he then added one tube of his white paints and mixed them until he was satisfied with the texture. It was such a lovely pigment and he cannot wait to use it, he watched as the bristles glided on the canvas, leaving a pigmented white streak but something is wrong. 

𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚. 𝗜𝗦. 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗪𝗥𝗢𝗡𝗚.

𝗜𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗨𝗚𝗟𝗬.

𝗦𝗢 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗞𝗬.

𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗘𝗖𝗧!

𝐼𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑘, 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑒.

Oikawa flinched suddenly, what if, what if it's because of the brush? He looked at the brush resting on his palms, is this the reason? H̶i̶s̶ h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶ a̶r̶e̶ t̶h̶e̶ f̶a̶u̶l̶t̶. He gripped it hard, making sure to break it in half. The brush was expensive but what is the use of an expensive brush if it won't help him make his piece? His eyes gazes back at the cabinet, the fourth cabinet was just calling for him, sighing, he opened it and saw hair on the cupboard. This, this was a special brush, Oikawa didn't even know himself if this will work, he tries to remember how he got it but his mind keeps blocking the memory.

"𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒐 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆," he muttered, eyes wide, holding the h̶a̶i̶r̶ so called 'brush'. 

Shaky fingers dragged the makeshift brush onto the canvas after smudging it with the paint, it was smooth, easy to control and could do the strokes he wanted. A smile carves itself on his face, big and crazed, his heart was beating so loud inside of his chest, mind was going haywire with thoughts and images he could form.

After few hours of countless smudging, stroking and coloring the canvas, he stepped back to admire his work, an amazing portrait of his husband could be seen. 

"𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔! 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒄𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒆𝒆!" He exclaims loudly, he was finally done! After countless of tries and sleepless night, his determination had finally payed off!

He layed the items somewhere on the room and got out of it, his mind could finally rest, Oikawa inhaled sharply and continued walking towards the room. He tried looking out of the window, it was nighttime, the rain is pouring enveloping the whole house in constant sound of falling raindrops. His brown orbs looks down on the wooden floorboards, it was creaking due to his every step, it scared him how much the house slightly deteriorated over the course of few months. What would Hajime say about this?

"D̶i̶d̶ y̶o̶u̶ f̶o̶r̶g̶e̶t̶? H̶a̶j̶i̶m̶e̶ i̶s̶ a̶l̶r̶e̶a̶d̶y̶ d̶e̶a̶d̶."

He rapidly turned around to find the source of the voice, he looks at the empty hallway before stopping on the potraits hanging on the moulded wood. They were looking at him mockily, a vile smile on their morphed faces.

"𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕? 𝑵𝒐 𝒏𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒐, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆, 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚!" He screamed out loud, his head were spinning and he could hear a painful ringing on his ears.

"𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗞𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗗 𝗛𝗜𝗠."

"𝑰 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕! 𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅!" He exclaims, his hands covering his ears in attempt to block out the noises but it doesn't seem to work.

Oikawa peeled his eyes open despite the nausea he is feeling, he traversed the hallway with mocking paintings in shaky legs. His medicine he needs it immediately. When he arrived at his bedroom, he desperately looked for the bottle and found it resting on the bedside table. Oikawa tried so hard to walk towards it, every step feels heavy as if there was a ball and chain connected to it. Upon reaching the table, he frantically opened up the lid, struggling a few times before finally opening it up. 

The brunette never liked the medicine he was prescribed, he never liked how the therapists called him delusional and crazy. T̶h̶e̶y̶ w̶e̶r̶e̶ r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶. The fact is that they are not on the same level of creativeness as his, they are lower than him and people like them don't deserve his time and effort. Oikawa painfully swallowed the said pills down his throat, it hurt but he needed to bear it. After a few minutes, his vision finally went back to normal, his head wasn't pounding anymore and there were no ringing in his ears yet why is there a pit on the bottom of his gut?

His mind then remembered his painting, the masterpiece he had been wanting to achieve. It's fine right? It must be fine. 

Oikawa immediately ran to get to his room, ignoring the portraits that were hanging on the wall. He took his meds but their faces still seem to be mockong his every movement and he didn't like it, but as of now, they aren't his concern for he is focused to a much more important matter and that is his painting. His feet stopped at the wooden door, it was locked, he digged his hand into his pocket to fish out the keys. His slender fingers grabbed the key, inserted it into the keyhole and twisted it until it was opened.

It was still raining outside, there were no lights that was lit but the moon shines bright through his windows, it was calming and very soothing despite the room being so dirty and filled with so much negativity. The brunette slowly walks towards the easel on the middle of the room, his painting sits on top of it, a sudden feeling of dread filled his insides. Why is he feeling this? Why now?

He dragged himself towards the canvas, his heart was pounding and he felt like he'd spill his guts anytime. When he is finally in front of it, his eyes went wide, the ringing coming back to his ears, the room turning into something out of a nightmare.

It was a portrait, the masterpiece he had been making was 𝘂𝗴𝗹𝘆 and fucking 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗲𝗰𝘁. The portrait doesn't even have a single resemblance with Hajime, it was a 𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮, j̶u̶s̶t̶ l̶i̶k̶e̶ h̶i̶m̶, the eyes were hallowed out, the skin looks like it was rotten and falling apart. It haunts him, he screamed, pulling his hair out in frustration. Oikawa threw the canvas on the floor, ripping it apart, destroying it until it was unrecognizable. 

Another failed attempt of making his masterpiece. 

"𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒊'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝒘𝒂-𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏," he muttered before looking at the chest behind him, his mind now clear as if nothing happened, he finally remembers.

𝐇𝐚𝐣𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲, 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a weird one, I have no idea why I did this and why I continued it. The concept is that I tried to make this work as if it was just a fever dream of some sort. If y'all know or noticed already, this is heavily based off from the horror game 'Layers of Fear' !
> 
> The explaination for the ending is that Iwaizumi was never away, Oikawa killed him and couldn't remember but in the end, he did due to the medicine. Oikawa had used up Iwaizumi's blood, hair and even bones to his painting. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this one! Comments, bookmarks and kudos are highly appreciated, see you guys next time.


End file.
